


Of tears and skies full of stars

by keikoHPfan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 10:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18849166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keikoHPfan/pseuds/keikoHPfan
Summary: Christmas will never be the same. Nothing will ever be the same. Not without Fred.





	Of tears and skies full of stars

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short OS written years ago, with a Christmassy spirit that's totally out of season but that I somehow wanted to feel. Enjoy!

Harry shifts from foot to foot in front of the shop, the snow chilling his feet through his worn-out trainers.

He really wishes he were somewhere else. Why has it to be him again?

Oh, right. Because the Weasleys hope that George will not tell him to fuck off right away, since he's not technically part of the family. Harry personally thinks that it's bullshit, but he's not brave enough to say it out loud, especially in front of a teary-eyed and hopeful Molly.

The shop is dark, but there's light pouring through one of the windows of the upper floor. Harry is sure that George is in.

He's also sure as hell that the redhead doesn't want to see him. Fuck, why him? Honestly.

Harry opens the backdoor with Ron's spare key and makes his way upstairs, muttering under his breath about stupid Christmas dinners and overbearing families. Not that he means any of it, but it doesn't matter. He's allowed to grumble once in a while, isn't he?

George's flat is dark except for a stray of light coming from his bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and Harry can hear the sound of sheets being moved and the wooden bedframe cracking slightly. Harry frowns and calls his friend's name softly, but doesn't get any answer. Harry resigns himself and pushes the door open, and then he stands here, gaping like an brainless goldfish.

Well, fuck.

George is lying in his bed, apparently naked – Harry silently thanks Merlin for the rumpled sheet barely covering the red head's groin – his eyes closed and his face a worrying shade of white. An older man is sitting on the side of the bed, apparently busy tying his shoes. The room reeks of sweat and sex and cheap alcohol.

The wand is in Harry's hand before he can even think about it. George moves a little and Harry nearly sighs with relief.

"Get out" he barks, and the blond man startles badly.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Harry can see George opening his eyes slowly, and the blonde idiot standing looking ridiculous with the fly of his trousers open and his half-buttoned shirt. Harry realizes he's still in the shadows of the living room, and he steps forward.

The blonde man gapes and stutters pitifully. Harry knows he shouldn't enjoy his obvious discomfiture so much, but honestly, this never gets old. Being the fucking Boy-Who-Lived-Twice has some perks, after all.

"Get out, I said. Now."

The man opens his mouth, then closes it and retrieves his coat from the back of a chair. He gets out of the room without sparing a glance for George, and Harry barely refrains to hex him.

The redhead moron is now curled on his side, the white sheet tightly tucked around him.

"Oh no you don't. Get up and take a shower, George. Everybody's waiting for you."

"Don't wanna go."

"I know. But you will."

"I can't."

Harry sighs and puts his wand back in its holster on his forearm. He carefully sits on George's bed.

"That bad?"

"Yeah."

"What were you thinking, bringing that idiot to your flat? It could be dangerous."

"Hey! I always use protection, I'll have you know."

George pouts and Harry rolls his eyes.

"Well, I'm glad you do, but I wasn't even talking about that. George, how often d'you bring strangers here? You have no idea who they are! They could hurt you... George! Fuck, are you drunk?"

"Maybe. Keeps the cold away, y'know? 'm always cold."

Harry wants to tell George to think of his family. To think of what Fred would say if he saw his twin like that. But he knows it's not what George needs, he knows it would be cruel and pointless. Merlin, it's such a wretched situation.

"George, get out of there. You need a shower and a warm meal. Come on."

"'M not going, Harry. Don't make me."

"Then you're telling your mother you're not coming, mate. No way I'll do it. Send her a Patronus and take a shower, you're stinking."

"Can't send a Patronus. Not anymore."

Harry's chest constricts painfully and he bits his lip.

"Alright. Alright, I'll tell them you're not feeling well, okay? Then I'll try to get us something to eat while you bathe. I want you to be clean and dressed when I get back, George."

"Yes Mum."

George smirks and Harry raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Don't be cheeky, you stupid prat. I could always ask your Mum to come."

Brown eyes widen slightly and Harry snorts.

"That's what I thought. Though tomorrow you're going to explain why you didn't come and why I had to stay with you, understood?"

HP-HP-HP-HP

George is sitting on his couch, barefoot and clad in faded jeans and a black tee-shirt. It doesn't suit him, somehow. Such a depressing color doesn't suit the owner of the downstairs joke shop. Harry sighs, setting the bag of take away curry on the coffee table – which is surprisingly clean.

"I had a Hangover potion at home. I hope it's still good, Seamus gave it to me on my birthday but I never needed it. I don't know how long you can keep potions" Harry shrugs. George's dull brown eyes lock with him and he takes the phial without a word, downing it with a grimace.

"I hope you like curry. It's from the little Muggle restaurant next to my flat, you know? Come on, dig in. It's better hot."

"Thank you."

Harry sits next to the redhead and they eat in silence. George has lit a few candles and the room is actually very nice. The walls are painted in warm colors – deep yellow and soft orange, mostly – and the light wood of the floor gives a modern touch to it. The brown leather couch is really used but it's comfortable.

"It's nice here."

"Yeah. I finished it last week. Fred... Fred wasn't too big on decorating, but I couldn't stand to leave it the way it was anymore."

"Well, I like it."

"Thank you." George munches on a piece of chicken and swallows with difficulty. "You... you didn't have to stay. But... I'm glad you did. I'm sorry, for, you know."

"No problem."

"I don't want them to worry, you know. I... I know they do. I just... I can't bear it. It's worse, at the Burrow, you know? There are so many memories... Even more than here."

"It's hard for them too."

"I know."

"They don't know how to deal with you, do they?"

"No. I know it's my fault, but-"

"It's not, George. D'you remember this summer? I couldn't stand to see anyone. I couldn't bear to get congratulations or to see people crying anymore. I don't know what was worse."

"I remember Mum was going nuts when you locked yourself in Grimmauld Place. But Hermione said to let you be. She said you needed the time and that you'd come back eventually."

"Yeah."

"Is it your not so-subtle way to tell me it gets better?"

George's smile is a bit hesitant, a bit fragile, but it's a smile anyway.

"Well, it does. I'm not saying it's all roses, but, yeah."

"I just- I miss him so much."

"I know. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, no."

"Okay."

"We used to drink hot chocolate with sprinkles and marshmallows after Christmas dinner, you know. With Fred. We climbed on the roof with blankets and we drank our chocolate under the stars. Maybe... Never mind."

"We could do it, if you wanted."

And so they do, climbing awkwardly on the frost-covered roof with their mugs of hot chocolate – laced with Firewhiskey, because, well, they're adults now – and sitting on an old blanket, another one wrapped around both their bodies.

"That's nice" Harry comments, and he sees George nodding from the corner of his eye.

"Yes. Merry Christmas, Harry."

"Merry Christmas, George."

Their breaths create puffs of fog in the cold air, and the nightly sky is dark and full of stars. Harry thinks of Sirius and how he would have liked to do such a thing, funny and pointless and a bit dangerous, and he smiles. George shivers beside him and the dark haired wraps his free arms around strong shoulders.

Somehow, they're going to be alright.

 


End file.
